


Contact

by chemm80



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F, F/F, Femslash, LGBTQ Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-11
Updated: 2011-12-11
Packaged: 2017-11-01 21:33:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/361493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chemm80/pseuds/chemm80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“So, what about you?” Olivia asks.  “Don’t see a lot of other women shit-crazy enough to do this job. Much less alone.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contact

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [](http://spn-j2-xmas.livejournal.com/profile)[**spn_j2_xmas**](http://spn-j2-xmas.livejournal.com/) exchange. Thanks to [](http://sylvanwitch.livejournal.com/profile)[**sylvanwitch**](http://sylvanwitch.livejournal.com/) for the insightful beta. Any remaining mistakes are my own.

The old wooden door is dark with the grease of a thousand handprints and Gwen shoulders into it, dislodging its grip on the swollen frame and stepping inside the dark, hole-in-the-wall bar, shitty little metal building on the side of the road. It’s no more luxurious inside than out, with a small central bar, several round, scarred tables, a few booths, and two pool tables in the back. Carpeted, too, for some reason, and Gwen briefly wonders who would be stupid enough to put carpet on a bar floor, then shrugs it off as not worth what little mental energy she has left. She gets a beer from the bored-looking bartender and finds a table near the back.

It’s pretty late for happy hour, but the place is still reasonably full. She guesses drinking and playing pool might be the height of entertainment around here. _Fucking shithole_ , she thinks, meaning the whole town, not just the bar. She shakes her head, wonders what in the hell possessed her to come in here, then remembers the empty motel room down the road, pictures herself sitting there drinking straight from a bottle, passing out in front of the shitty TV. She sighs.

She lights a cigarette, takes a deep drag and exhales, then washes the harsh taste down with a swallow of beer. She’s picking at a crusty spot on her jeans—mud probably, but maybe blood—when a guy gets up and crosses the room, making for her table. _Of course he is._

She closes her eyes briefly, tired beyond the telling of it.

“You know you shouldn’t smoke. It’s bad for your health,” he says, his grin exposing gaps where teeth are missing. The stained ones that remain don’t look long for this world, either, Gwen thinks.

“Yeah, well, I’m not planning on living that long,” Gwen drawls, taking another pull.

The guy turns a chair around backward and sits down, leans across the table and reaches, like he’s going to take her hand or something, then grunts as he suddenly finds his wrist twisted under, pinned by Gwen’s full weight, all the leverage on her side. He’s sprawled half across the table, unable to move much without hurting his overstressed shoulder joint.

The bill of his trucker cap is inches from Gwen’s face, and he blinks away the smoke curling up from the cigarette where it’s tucked in the corner of her mouth. He looks like he’s regretting coming over here, to say the least, but his buddies are watching him from across the room, so he attempts a laugh, breath gusting across her face. It’s foul, but Gwen was face to face with a black dog mere hours ago, and this guy can’t really compete with that stench. She doesn’t flinch.

“So, you like it rough, do you?” he tries, but there’s an undertone of a whine.

“Yeah. Like it bloody, too,” Gwen says, with a grim smile, cuts her eyes down to where her Ka-bar is in her other hand, poised half an inch from his substantial beer gut. He meets her eyes, his own wide with alarm.

“Hey, now…no need for that…didn’t mean nothin’,” he stammers.

She lets him up, satisfied, but completely over this whole scene. He shambles back to where he came from, casting a nervous glance at her over his shoulder and muttering, “Crazy bitch,” as he goes.

Gwen smirks. _Right on both counts_ , she thinks. She shoves her chair back, takes a final puff from her cigarette as she rises and then stubs it out, picks up her beer and downs the rest of it before walking out the door, aware of the eyes on her back as she goes.

The crap motel room is sounding better all the time.

It’s a walk that Gwen doesn’t particularly feel like making right now, just wants to collapse onto the nearest horizontal surface and sleep for about a week, but she learned the hard way not to trust her Bronco and its contents to the tender mercies of bar parking lots—or her driving skills after she’s had a few— and the motel isn’t that far. You’d have to leave the town limits for that.

The lighting is for shit outside the little dive, barely bright enough to make out the shapes of the trucks parked where they stopped. No lines on the scant gravel and not much regard for orderly arrangement, either. Gwen stretches against the stiffness that’s settling in her neck and descends the few wooden steps, starts to walk.

“I’d call that impressive…”

Gwen freezes, heart rate ratcheting up in response to the voice from behind her, somewhere near the corner of the building. The timbre is feminine, if low and husky, and when the figure to match the voice steps out of the dark just off her left flank, Gwen eyes the woman over her shoulder without turning around.

Hunter or monster, one of the two—nothing else could have gotten the drop on her like this.

“…but then, you took down a black dog singlehanded earlier tonight. Not such a big deal after that, I suppose.”

Gwen does turn around then, slowly and carefully, irritated at the cloak and dagger routine but more at herself for being taken by surprise. Surprises have a tendency to be deadly, her daddy used to say. She’d bet he was plenty surprised when that werewolf ripped his heart out, anyway.

“Thanks,” Gwen says drily. “You following me around looking for tips? Because I don’t sign autographs.”

She can see her more clearly now—slender, dark-haired, taller than Gwen by several inches.

“Olivia Lowry,” the woman says. “I was tracking it, too. You just got here first,” she shrugs.

Gwen raises her eyebrows, nods, gives the woman a questioning look.

“Okaaay. Better luck next time?”

Olivia breathes a short laugh.

“Yeah. Thing is, I’ve been driving all day and most of the night…not many decent places to stay around here.”

“Wrong,” Gwen says, deadpan.

“Huh?”

“There are zero decent motels within fifty miles of here.”

Olivia chuckles, nods ruefully.

“Yeah, I noticed.”

Gwen’s a little reluctant to turn her back on the woman, even if it does seem fairly clear that she’s a hunter and not something needing to be put down, but her back is aching and she needs to piss and she’s over this bizarre whatever-it-is that they’re having.

“Okay, well…this has been fun, but…” Gwen trails off and turns to walk away.

“So you’re camping out?” Olivia says, a little louder. As Gwen turns back, mouth open on a sharper retort designed to get rid of this nuisance, Olivia continues.

“Because that’d sure go over easier with some of this in your belly.”

She’s holding up a bottle, its distinctive shape that of a high-shelf tequila.

Gwen feels a slow grin spread over her face.

“You know it might, at that,” she says.

*********************************************

“…so apparently, just as Crash finally decides to come charging in, the rawhead goes barreling out, knocks Crash flat, just spread eagle on the damned floor. I thought I was right behind the thing, but I can’t see it anywhere. I ask Crash, ‘Where’d he go?’ Crash sits up, looks around, all confused-like, says, ‘Where’d _who_ go?’” Olivia laughs, takes another sip from her plastic cup of tequila.

Gwen laughs too, probably harder than she should, even considering the fact that the previously full bottle is down by half. She’s probably just tired. She slouches back further against the headboard and drinks, the tequila sliding down easy, hardly any burn at all.

Okay, maybe she’s drunker than she thought.

“Crash wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he was loyal,” Olivia says, more softly. “Like a big, dumb St. Bernard, you know? I miss him.”

Gwen doesn’t need to ask, doesn’t say, “So whatever happened to ol’ Crash, anyway?” The use of the past tense, not to mention the downturn at the corners of Olivia’s mouth, tells her all she needs to know.

Crash met the end of his road.

They’ve been talking and drinking for a couple of hours now, trading hunting stories and catching up on mutual acquaintances, not that there are that many of those. Hunters are too thin on the ground to run in packs.

Olivia’s leaning forward in the rickety, scarred chair, elbows braced on her knees as she talks, but now she seems to have run out of words. Gwen’s not surprised, really. She’s probably talked more, herself, in the last two hours than she has in the last two months.

“So, what about you?” Olivia asks. “Don’t see a lot of other women shit-crazy enough to do this job. Much less alone.”

Gwen lets that lie for a moment, closes her eyes and pauses too long, but she can always blame that on the alcohol. She thinks about her brother, Clay, four years older and hell-bent on getting away from the hunting life altogether. They don’t talk, haven’t for years, and she doubts very seriously that her twelve-year-old nephew has any idea that his Aunt Gwen even exists.

Her father had been the only hunting partner she ever had, started when she was sixteen and never looked back, even though she’d admired Clay a little for getting out when he did, envied him a little bit more—hated him for running out on them, too. But sometimes, like now, when she’s drunk, or has too much time to think, she figures Clay was right to get away when he did.

She’d been too late to save Dad from the were anyway; they’d gotten separated tracking it in the dark and by the time she’d filled the thing full of silver, there hadn’t been much left of her father.

So much for loyalty.

But when she opens her eyes again, Olivia is still looking at her and Gwen looks back so that they’re sort of staring, and it should probably be awkward, but Gwen’s too tired and drunk to care. She's vaguely aware of the headboard digging into her shoulderblades, the thin cheap pillows doing little to cushion the sharp edges, but she doesn’t do anything about it. Even breaking eye contact seems like too much effort. When Olivia finally drops her eyes from Gwen's with a little smirk, the feeling that hits Gwen surprises her.

Disappointment.

But Olivia turns and sets her drink down on the table at her side, her movements very careful and deliberate in the way of the moderately drunk, then gets up and starts crawling up the bed toward Gwen. Gwen is thinking she should really muster up the energy to move over and give her some space to stretch out, but Olivia just keeps on going, taking Gwen’s cup and carefully setting it aside on the nightstand before she swings one long leg across Gwen’s two and leans down, hovering over her on all fours.

She looks Gwen in the eye, a little questioning smile on her face, and Gwen’s not naïve enough that she hadn’t considered this. She knows what Olivia’s asking and she knows what her answer’s going to be.

Gwen reaches up and grabs a handful of Olivia’s shirt, scooting down into a more supine position, even as she pulls the other woman down into a kiss. Olivia collapses onto her, laughing a little and then moaning, throwing herself into the kiss. Gwen has an initial moment of panic, her impulse to throw Olivia off, body instinctively interpreting the weight on top of her as an attack, but she shoves the feeling aside, wraps one leg around Olivia’s hips to pull her in, bracing her other heel on the bed for leverage as she arches up against her.

Olivia moans again, breath quickening, and it does feel good, Gwen is one hundred percent with her on that one, enjoying the slick slide of tongues and Olivia’s hand in her hair, pulling just hard enough to make Gwen’s eyes roll back with the pleasure-pain of it.

Gwen lets a soft whimper slip out as she grabs a double handful of Olivia’s firm round ass, pulls her close and arches up again, rolling her hips, but Olivia rocks back, sits upright on her haunches just as they're getting to the good part.

The little sound of protest is already out of her mouth before Gwen realizes that Olivia is just making room to peel off her shirt. Gwen hurries to follow, rising and stepping off the side of the bed to strip out of her jeans and then shed the rest of her clothing, watching Olivia do the same out of the corner of her eye, no attempt at being seductive from either of them, no point now.

Gwen climbs back onto the bed, completely naked and feeling deliciously wanton as she moves closer to where Olivia is perched on her knees, up near the pillows but not lying down yet. Gwen wraps her arms around Olivia’s neck, running her hands down her back and over every inch of skin she can reach, their bare breasts lightly brushing.

The first touch of Olivia's skin is overwhelming, soft and silky, even as it roughens with goosebumps that rise in the path of Gwen's caress, and oh yeah, this was _so_ worth the effort, so much better than anything she’s had in…well, almost longer than she can remember. It usually is with women, and Gwen doesn’t know if it’s that she’s more into females than males, or if it’s just the rarity that makes it so amazing, but it’s definitely a fact that Gwen has always found it much harder to get into women’s pants than men’s.

Except this time, because Olivia is giving as good as she’s getting, flashing her a dirty grin before pulling Gwen in close and mouthing at her neck, kneading her ass as she urges Gwen against her, still kneeling on the bed. Olivia is taller than Gwen, probably stronger too, because she draws Gwen in easily, hauls her across her lap without much effort at all. Not that Gwen isn’t helping her out, burying her face in Olivia’s neck and sucking marks into her skin, straddling her long muscular thigh, grinding against it helplessly, any inhibitions she might have had at the beginning gone with the alcohol and her arousal.

“Yeah,” Olivia breathes, spreading her thighs to make room and letting Gwen rub against her for a moment before she tips Gwen backward onto the bed and presses down, rolling her hips, delicious pressure that Gwen does her best to return, makes her moan and sink her teeth into the muscle of Olivia’s shoulder.

“Oh fuck,” Olivia groans. She shifts her weight to one elbow and reaches down between them. Gwen spreads her legs to give her access, moaning and rolling her hips when Olivia slides a finger into her already wet cunt. Olivia finger-fucks her for a couple of seconds, then adds another, rubbing at Gwen’s clit with her thumb as she does. It’s winding her up so fast, faster than Gwen thought was possible, but it’s been a while since she’s had a hand on her other than her own, much less with Olivia’s tongue licking circles against hers, while Gwen busily explores all that soft skin with her hands.

Every part of Olivia feels good, even when Gwen’s fingers trip over a ridge of scar tissue along one hip; that’s nothing she hadn’t expected anyway. Not like she doesn’t have her share.

Gwen thrashes and moans, humping against Olivia’s hand, getting more turned on by the second, trying to get more friction and the rhythm she needs. Olivia definitely knows what she’s doing, has Gwen right on the edge in a matter of a few minutes, but Gwen’s not so far gone that’s she’s done touching back. She reaches down between them, searching, until she can slide two fingers into Olivia’s wet heat in turn. The hot clench of Olivia’s cunt, her shuddering moan, and her clever fingers combine to send Gwen over the edge, and she grabs Olivia by the hips and pulls her body tightly against her own, trapping Olivia’s hand inside her as she comes, panting and moaning, “Oh fuck” over and over, straining and shivering in glorious release, until she’s finally done.

Olivia lets her finish, then smiles faintly, murmurs, “Mmm…so pretty.”

Gwen gives a sharp laugh, surprised, before she remembers her manners, starts working her hand back between Olivia’s legs, drawing a soft grunt out of the other woman as Olivia raises her top leg to make more room, rolling her hips and mouthing at Gwen’s collarbone. She strokes Olivia’s smooth-skinned back with her free hand, fucking her lazily for a couple of minutes, then has a better idea.

“Come here,” Gwen says, sliding her fingers out and urging Olivia to move higher on the bed, to straddle her shoulders, her thighs trembling with strain and arousal as she settles into position over Gwen’s face, gripping the narrow headboard for support. Gwen grins wickedly and pulls her down by the hips, opens her mouth and tongues her clit, licking inside her, sucking at the wetness there. Her scent is vaguely metallic, similar to blood but not quite the same, the flavor salty-sour and arousing, the sounds she makes and the way she grinds down against Gwen’s face even more so.

Still, Gwen can tell she’s holding back, trying not to press too hard or get too rough and Gwen doesn’t want that, wants her to just let go and get herself off, rub as hard as she wants. She pulls her mouth away, panting.

“Come on, I can take it,” she whispers, then seals her mouth over Olivia’s swollen clit again, giving a hard suck to illustrate her point. Olivia gives a small cry and arches, bearing down so hard that Gwen can barely breathe, and it’s exactly what she wants. Gwen uses one hand to rub herself, almost ready to come again from the way Olivia is moaning and riding her face.

“Oh God, yeah…fuck me…please,” Olivia gasps and Gwen is happy to oblige, moving the hand she isn’t using on herself to Olivia’s wet cunt and sliding two fingers inside, then curling them slightly forward, fucking her hard and fast.

Olivia freezes, moves her own hand down to press hard on her clit as she comes, not even finished before Gwen loses it again with a loud cry, letting her hand slip out of Olivia’s wet cunt to clutch at the bedspread as she convulses. Olivia has risen up on her knees by this point, considerately refraining from suffocating Gwen, and then collapses sideways onto the bed. Gwen releases a satisfied chuckle, still breathing hard.

Olivia hums, smiling faintly and stretching, throwing her hands above her head and groaning as she does, before she gets up, moves off the bed just long enough to throw the bedcovers back and get under. She turns onto her side, facing away from Gwen, and Gwen gets up and slides in behind her, suddenly wanting to sleep more than just about anything, combination of the long day, the alcohol and the really pretty amazing sex taking their toll.

But instead of sleeping, she finds herself nuzzling at Olivia’s neck, caressing her skin, running her hands over her body and undulating her hips against Olivia’s soft smooth ass until Olivia laughs.

Gwen freezes, suddenly self-conscious at the way she’s rubbing herself all over the other woman like some sort of giant cat, but Olivia reaches back and grabs her hand, pulls her back in close.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind,” she says.

Gwen hesitates for just a second, more for her pride’s sake than out of any real desire to pull away, but then folds herself in close and falls asleep next to another warm body for the first time in months.

****************************************

Morning comes unwelcome and too soon, and Gwen flinches against the ray of sunlight sneaking in through a hole in the ratty motel drapes. She swallows thickly, tasting tequila and something else, which takes her a second to place. That’s when she remembers that she didn’t go to sleep alone last night, even though at the moment the room is clearly empty of everything but her and her few possessions.

She rubs her hand over her face and coughs, tries to stretch her neck without moving her head too much. Now that she thinks about it, she isn’t as hung over as she probably deserves. Probably burned off some of the tequila with the nice little workout that followed. She grins to herself and gets out of bed.

It’s not until she’s showered and is packing her stuff that she finds the ragged slip of paper, receipt from some convenience store miles away from here. Scrawled handwriting on the back, just a phone number and a South Dakota address.

She snorts and rolls her eyes, wonders what the hell use she'd ever have for this information.

But she doesn’t throw it away.


End file.
